Hadley's Hope, Population 159
by Rob764
Summary: Hadley's Hope. The setting for the deaths of a platoon of colonial marines. But what happened before Hicks and Vasquez? What happened to the colonists?
1. Default Chapter

Summary - Hadley's Hope, the colony found deserted and ravaged by xenomorphs, is the setting for the film Aliens. But what happened before the marines arrived? What happened when the inexperienced colonists fought, and ultimately lost, against the xenomorph threat?  
  
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Viscous wind tore at the planet's surface, howling around the rocky dunes and hammering against the colony walls. Loose stones rolled along the ground, and dust swirled, creating mini tornados. The black sky roared overhead, as it always did.  
  
The colony itself, a tiny settlement dominated by two atmosphere processors, was a hive of bunker-like structures and metal pylons. High- wheeled tractors and other vehicles trudged between the, insects working busily between anthills. Every now and again there was an insignificant shimmer as one of the many neon advertisements within the complex flickered, a victim to the community's unreliable power source.  
  
The atmosphere processors had no such weakness. Fusion powered, belching a steady supply air back into the atmosphere that had long since become poisonous hundreds of years ago. Particle matter and dangerous gases were removed by chemical breakdown; oxygen and nitrogen replaced them. Each belch brought Acheron closer to complete colonisation. It wasn't an expensive process, but it was time-consuming.  
  
At the entrance of the colony stood a steel sign, weathered by the elements but still delivering the message: Hadley's Hope - Pop. 159. Welcome to Acheron. Beneath it, one of the more rebellious locals had spray painted "Have a nice day".  
  
The inhabitants of Hadley's Hope were as weathered as the sign. They were tough and well muscled, a community with the worst neighbourhood in the galaxy. Most were company employees, attracted to Acheron by the chance of adventure and the huge paycheques. However, here and there independent business owners sold over-priced goods to overpaid colonists. They had bought land from the Company, hoping to make a large profit from those that had left entertainment behind.  
  
The centre of Hadley's Hope was taken up by a tall building known as the control block. Towering above every other artificial structure bar the atmosphere processors, it housed the base of operations for the colony. With little room for anything but computers, only a few workers were needed to oversee the work of the mainframe.  
  
At the foot of the structure, a small group of teens lingered, trying to make fun for themselves on this dark, overcast afternoon. Brought up on a world that their parents had settled on a decade ago, these children knew nothing of their home world, and nor did they wish to. Acheron was their universe.  
  
"You wouldn't do it," Greg, the oldest and therefore the leader, taunted, "You haven't got the nerve."  
  
"Have too!" Sam, one of the youngest of the group at eight, replied, desperate not to lose face in front of the only gang of kids on the planet.  
  
"Where's Newt?" Greg asked, using the question as an insult, "she'd do it."  
  
"She's off with her folks somewhere," another member, Sal, answered, "her dad said something about searching for radioactives."  
  
"I can do anything Newt can do!" Sam piped up, refusing to let the topic be derailed,  
  
"I'm two years older than her!"  
  
"Fine. Show us then," Greg prompted.  
  
Hesitated a little, the small boy bent down and picked up a large rock. He rose, and, after taking a look around to make sure the street was deserted, hurled the stone through the window of the control block. Glass shattered, and the children stood and stared, awed at the destruction caused by one of their number.  
  
"Hey!" a man's head popped out the window. The children fled.  
  
"Hey! Get back here! Hey!" the man ran out onto the street, but to no avail. The children were gone, experts of the alleys and backstreets that wove in between the houses and bars of Hadley's Hope.  
  
The adult, Simpson, was operations manager of the central block, and therefore ran the colony. He was burley, but had the brains to back it up, and he wore the dark-rimmed eyes of one to whom sleep is a distant stranger.  
  
Taking a glance at the shattered window and shaking his head, he stepped back inside and shut the door.  
  
Walking up a dimly lit corridor up the stairs, he returned to Operations. His assistant, Lydecker, was the only occupant of the large room. The walls were adorned with control panels, and the majority of the space was taken up with desks and consoles.  
  
Lydecker sat at his console, telephone glued to the side of his head and a sombre expression slapped across his haggard face. He gestured to Simpson as he entered.  
  
"You'll never believe what some little bastard's done downstairs," the boss started, but was cut off by his assistant's telephone call.  
  
"Yeah, ok, he's just arrived. We'll both get down there right away. Bye," he replaced the receiver, and turned to Simpson, "it can wait. This can't. Russ Jorden's just arrived with some.organism stuck on his head."  
  
"Jorden? The volunteer for the radioactive search?"  
  
"The very same. His wife and kids brought him in. He's lying in Medical right now. Ling's not touching anything yet, says he's gonna wait for us to get down there."  
  
"Ok, let's go."  
  
**********  
  
Medical was a wild mess. Staff hurried about in disarray, asking their superiors what to do. The superiors were as clueless as the staff. They'd never seen anything like this before.  
  
As soon as Simpson arrived, all questions were turned on him. He walked through the door, Lydecker on his heels, straight into a tirade.  
  
"Sir! Thank God you're here!" Ling, a middle aged surgeon of about five foot nine, rushed through the group of frantic doctors, "you've gotta see this."  
  
He led the two operators through to a private room. Surgical equipment layoff to the side, obviously prepped for use. Heart monitors beeped frequently. But it was to the bed where all attention was drawn.  
  
Russ Jorden lay there, his chest moving up and down steadily. A monstrosity sat upon his face. Like an oversized hand, its long fingers gripped Jorden's head, and a tail stretched down and around the man's neck.  
  
Anne Jorden sat on a chair to the side of the bed, head held in her hands. Upon the entrance of the three men, she looked up.  
  
"What is it?" she whispered, her eyes tear-stained, "what the hell is it?" 


	2. Chapter 2

"We don't know yet," Ling stated, speaking as much to the new arrivals as to Anne, "we've never seen anything like this before. All we know is we can't pull it off. It's attached itself, but it's not smothering him. His blood is thoroughly oxygenated."  
  
"How's that?" Lydecker leaned forward, studying the patient, "the thing's completely engulfed his face."  
  
Anne let out a sob and ran from the room. Simpson turned to his assistant.  
  
"Smooth. Real smooth. Ling, see if you can get a scan on this thing. We'll attempt to get things under control out there," he gestured to the lobby, where frenzied staff could still be seen.  
  
"Hell, you might as well call a town meeting," Lydecker pointed out, "everyone's gonna have heard about this in an hour anyway."  
  
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The town hall stood off to the side of the complex. It was a low building, but it spread across a wide area. Used mainly by the small school as a gym, it was also the location of town meetings, usually revolving around new company policy or weather forecasts. Today the usually bored populace sat, attentive and alert. They'd heard about Jorden, and they wanted to know if they themselves were in danger.  
  
Simpson stood at the front on a raised platform, looking out over the sea of engineers and their families.  
  
"As most of you are aware," he started, speaking slowly and loudly so that his voice boomed around the hall, "Russ Jorden returned here this afternoon, unconscious. Attached to his face is an unrecognisable life- form. It does not appear to be harming him, but we are unable to remove it."  
  
"Where the hell did this thing come from?" shouted a voice.  
  
"Jorden was exploring the high plateau out past the Ilium Range," Simpson addressed the whole hall, "according to his wife, he entered a derelict alien vessel. He proceeded to the lower levels of the craft, and this thing jumped on his face."  
  
"What was he doing out beyond the Ilium Range with his family?" came a cry from the back, "the place is a frikkin' maze!"  
  
"Look, we all know how this goes," Simpson grumbled, "some paper-pusher back on Earth sends orders to explore an area, we go out and try to salvage a little treasure for ourselves as well as Weyland-Yutani. We've all done it at one time or another, so let's not jump around it. Jorden was looking for crap to salvage."  
  
"While we're on the subject of Weyland-Yutani," came a voice near the front, "has anyone contacted the Company?"  
  
The speaker, Don Bridges, sat in the second row. Tall and well-built, Bridges had bought land on Acheron and set up a bar within the colony. This gave him the position of one of the most popular people in Hadley's Hope.  
  
"No," Simpson hesitated, then began, "you all know what'll happen if the Company get involved. They'll cordon of the whole planet, and we'll be shipped back to Earth with nothing. No, it's better we sort this out ourselves. It's just one organism."  
  
"You don't know that!" Bridges rose from his seat, as did many others around him, "for all you know there could be hundreds of the things coming to attack us!"  
  
"Attack us?" Simpson snorted, "it's a crab. It's an animal. I think you're getting a little hysterical."  
  
Chuckles echoed throughout the hall. Colonists, respecting Bridges but not wanting to lose face in front of their neighbours, taunted the publican.  
  
"Ignorant bastards," Bridges muttered under his breath, taking his seat. He turned left, to his employee and best friend, "John, get the tractor ready. We're going out there to find this ship."  
  
John Marachuk, a strong young man of twenty seven, had been with Bridges for five years. He worked behind the bar, but occasionally carried out odd- jobs for the colonists. He, like his boss, was well-built, but shorter. His short blonde hair was usually covered by his cap.  
  
"Go out?" Marachuk's eyes widened, "are you sure? You said yourself, there could be hundreds of the things!"  
  
"I know what I said," Bridges growled as the meeting carried on around him, "that's why we're heading out. I'll prove to these people. Bring a camera, and two pals. We're gonna need some help if we don't wanna end up like Jorden."  
  
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There were no guards in Hadley's Hope. Acheron had been checked for indigenous life years before, and when no results had turned up the colonists concluded that guards would be a waste of money. That was why nobody saw Bridges' tractor leave colony grounds, trudging along towards the Ilium Range.  
  
Within the six-wheeled, amour plated vehicle sat four men. Bridges and Marachuk, as well as two others.  
  
Mark Brorsbig was a Russian terraformer, and as big as an ox. He was always requested to move the heavy equipment, and was usually silent. However, it could be betted on that when the Russian did speak, his words were usually worth hearing.  
  
Ben Wendigo was at the different end of the spectrum entirely. Small and weedy, the man had a face like a rodent. His greasy black hair hung over his face, bouncing now and again as the tractor hit a bump in the rough terrain.  
  
"I can't wait to get in that ship," he chuckled, his abnormally high voice bouncing around the tractor's interior, "there'll be enough salvage in the thing to get me three - no, four - condos back on Earth. Maybe take a trip out to the Luna Camps!"  
  
"We're not salvaging anything until we get proof that there're more of those things," Bridges growled, leaning back in his chair, "and even then you'll be careful what you bring onboard. I'm not having any hostile entities on this truck."  
  
Wendigo let out a long breath, exasperated. They'd been driving for three hours straight, and found nothing. He'd sworn to himself before he'd taken Marachuk up on the offer that he'd come back with more than the measly fifty credits the publican was paying. Hell, he'd only venture beyond the Ilium Range if he came back with at least enough treasure to buy himself a small space cruiser.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Ben," Marachuk laughed, working the gears of the tractor as he tried to steer through the rock dunes, "according to Simpson's report it's a derelict alien craft. The Company'd probably give us billions for the seatbelts alone!"  
  
"How do we know it is derelict?" Brorsbig asked quietly, his accent thick, "what if the crew are waiting for us with more than big spiders?"  
  
"The guns are in back," Bridges gestured to a large cabinet at the rear of the cabin, "we won't exactly be using our nails."  
  
"This better be worth it," Wendigo muttered, leaning back and closing his eyes.  
  
"Ben, don't nod off on me just yet," Marachuk leaned round the driver's chair, "we're here." 


End file.
